


Longterm Commitments

by Toastybluetwo



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-05
Updated: 2011-10-05
Packaged: 2017-10-24 08:16:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/261121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Toastybluetwo/pseuds/Toastybluetwo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On Hawke and Anders’ wedding day, Varric gives Hawke his thoughts on marriage. (m!Hawke/Anders)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Longterm Commitments

“Mother was a noble hunter.” Varric sat on the bedroom’s only chair, his legs crossed. “She couldn’t even read when she married my father. You should have heard my grandfather. He just couldn’t stand that his son picked himself up a bride from Dustown.”

“Let me guess: she was amazing in the sack.” Hawke stared at the clothes lying on his bed with a vacant expression. None of this seemed real. It didn’t seem right to put on these clothes.

He suddenly wanted a stiff drink.

“Hawke, I’m surprised at you. That’s my mother you’re talking about.” Varric’s voice pretended to be offended. “Though, you might be right. They were a pair, that’s for sure. She always seemed to know when he was happy or sad. He always knew the right thing to say to cheer her up, or when he needed to leave her alone to pull herself together.”

Hawke raised his head and gazed at Varric. His mind shifted into memory, seeing not this room, but a small house far away in Lothering, a home that may not even exist anymore. “My parents were the same way.”

“No, your mother was stronger. At least she tried to find another man to keep a smile on her face until the end of her days.” Varric rubbed his chin as he stared back at Hawke. “My mother never recovered from Father’s death. In truth, she never fully recovered from my house being kicked out of Orzammar.”

“I’m sorry.” Hawke said it because he did care about Varric, and because the two of them were speaking in privacy. Under any other circumstances, he might dismiss the end of the story as one that dwelled too much on the past and things that could not be undone.

“I was waiting for you to ask me what the point was of telling you all of that.” Varric snorted quietly. “You’re off your game, Hawke. Maybe it’s the nerves.”

“Yeah. Nerves.” Reluctantly, Hawke began to dress, starting with the finely woven stockings and moving to the pressed trousers. “So what was your point?”

“My point was this: there’s a reason why I’m not married.” Varric drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair. “I have a lot of respect for marriage. It’s a really powerful thing and I don’t take it lightly.”

“If you’re about to tell me that I’m making a mistake by marrying Anders, it’s too late for that.” Hawke frowned. Varric perhaps meant well, but this wasn’t the time for this.

“Don’t be so defensive.” Varric exhaled through his teeth. “You two are a pair, like my parents were. If I wanted to get poetic about it, I might even say that you were meant for each other. You put up with his shit, he puts up with yours. You two look after one another.” His gaze took on a soft quality. “I’m happy for you two.”

Varric was dancing around the issue. Hawke could sense it even as he laced up his trousers and reached for his shirt. “Bullshit,” Hawke muttered. “You’re thinking about the Calling. It isn’t like I don’t think about it every time he wakes up screaming in the middle of the night.”

For once, the dwarf remained silent, his fingers folded in one another, his gaze trained on Hawke’s face.

“He has about ten years left, maybe more if he’s lucky.” Standing up straight, Hawke allowed his own vision to rest on a blank spot on a wall. “It’s ten years. A hell of a lot can happen in ten years, enough to fill ten lifetimes, if you play it right.”

“You’ve got that right. Just look what happened in Kirkwall.” Varric stood up, stretching his arms high above his head. It was almost strange to see him dressed so well, in a black and gold suit with velvet breeches, and a shirt that buttoned to his chin. He had added a red and gold ascot that might have looked out of place on anyone else, but it seemed to make sense on Varric. “Let’s drink to your wedding. One drink. One small toast. I’ll give you something longer and more memorable later.”

“It better cheer me up. The last conversation? It depressed the shit out of me. You nug-shagger.” Hawke walked over to the mirror, draped his own cravat around his neck, then began to try his best to tie it.

Varric smirked as he opened a small bottle of rum with a practiced twist of his wrist, and poured some of the dark liquid into two tumblers. “You’re a prick, but I love you more than I ever did Bartrand, to tell you the truth.” His expression changed to one of exasperation as he set down both glasses, making sweeping gestures with his hands. “No, no, no. You’re fucking it all up. Right over left and no, you don’t tie it in a bow. What were you, born in a barn?”

“Lothering. Same difference.” Sighing heavily, Hawke knelt down on the ground. He threw back his shoulders and held out both arms in a gesture of defeat. “Come on, do it for me.”

“Can’t let you look like you belong in the Hanged Man. Blondie would kill me.” Striding across the room, Varric removed the ascot from Hawke’s neck. “This came with a pin, didn’t it? It should have. There. Raise your chin.” He began to tuck and tug the ascot into place. “I’ll give you a preview: Blondie got himself a nice suit. Better than yours, and not in black, either.”

“Stop. You’re making me nervous.” Hawke stood up, turned and examined his reflection in the mirror.

Varric grinned. “Nervous? I thought you had balls of steel.”


End file.
